


let a thousand flowers bloom.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10547026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: gil thinks of odin arrow like one thinks of a flower.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/gifts).



> semi SEMI nsfw... implied handjob is all. and overuse of flower metaphors.
> 
> goes hand in hand with the work i did that is "odin thinks of gil like a gun"

Gil thinks of Odin like a flower:

He is delicate. Odin pretends he is not, a mask of pride fit snug on his face, but Gil knows better than to believe it. Beneath the hubris sits a man who has no faith in the world nor in himself. It is the man that Gil craves. In the darkest parts of the night, in his room, cozy under blankets, Gil thinks, _let me show you all the parts about you worth loving_.

Odin is as delicate as the flowers in a garden, and blooms just as beautifully beneath his hands.

Gil, and his mouth on Odin's neck. Gil, and his hands running dangerously low on Odin's body. Gil, and his words of adoration whispering into Odin's ears. Odin's mask of pride is only so strong, and Gil knows how to crumble it; how to step on the flowers and crush them. Gil knows Odin in every way, but this way, this holy sort of intimacy, he knows best.

When Gil looks at Odin beneath him, he is wrecked: face adorned with a dark flush, lips looking swollen with kisses, and his body scattered with bite marks in the shape of Gil's mouth. Gil knows this is him blooming; this is Odin becoming alive and real beneath Gil, _because_ of Gil. Knows there is a privilege in being the only one who has seen Odin this way: desperate, needy, pride drained from him.

"You're beautiful," Gil says. Knows he could compliment the man for hours and it would never cease to be true. Odin's eyes flutter shut, embarrassment evident by his eyebrows creasing together.

Gil licks his lips, fingers trailing across Odin's stomach. Odin twitches beneath him, exhaling deeply, says, "I-If you're going to d-do something, then just d-do it already."

Gil thinks of Odin as a flower, and his cruel-sweet words as the thorns. His nails that bite down into his skin as the thorns. The way his breathing breaks off and he says Gil's name as the thorns.

Gil's hands dip lower, and the stem—

Gil's hands move slick-fast against Odin, encouraged by the way Odin's breathing becomes shaky. It's something beautiful, Gil knows, the way Odin bites at his lips and curls his hands in the bedsheets. Gil wonders if he stares long enough, soaks the memory in, if it could stay with him for eternity. Odin could leave, could disappear from Gil's grasp, but he'd still have the memory of the way Odin gasps out _faster, p-please_.

The stem is the way Gil knows exactly what gets to Odin and makes him blossom beneath his hands. The stem is how Odin arches his back off the bed, a mantra of Gil's names and _please_ and _god_ falling off his lips.

And the petals are the soft caress of Odin's lips against his as he sits atop him once more. The petals as the colour of the blush against Odin's skin. The petals as the gentle way Odin's hands settle on his neck.

Odin is a flower, and Gil does not mind the thorns.


End file.
